


Theon Greyjoy's First Case

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Detective AU, Discrimination, Homophobic Language, Jon appears later, M/M, Modern AU - still Westeros, Racism, Ramsay is his own warning, language in general where it concerns Ramsay, murder-mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Theon Greyjoy - ex-cop, now private investigator. One of his observation jobs goes horribly wrong and his past nemesis catches up with him.Who can solve the case? KLPD officer Ramsay Bolton or Theon Greyjoy?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually an austrian crime novel. I suddenly thought, hey, this could be a fun fanfic. So here it is.

Theon gets in at the passenger side while Ramsay shuffles through the back. He wants to slam the door shut, but something stops it from closing.

"Fucking shit car, fuck!!"

Then he notices the obstacle is his long black leather coat. Cursing, he pulls it in and the door falls closed. Meanwhile Theon has turned to the taxi driver. He's no Westerosi, his skin has the colour of a polished hazelnut.

"The Andal Pub, please." 

Ramsay has finished examining his coat for any blemishes and leans forward, tapping at the taximeter.

"Without that today."

Theon cringes, and the driver gives him a quick side glance.

Ramsay goes on, chirping, "You no speaking common tongue, monkey? No paying! You drive!"

The driver is silent, and Theon can sense his inner conflict. With a sigh he pulls out his badge.

"We're from the KLPD."

The driver nods and starts the car. Ramsay leans back.

"Stupid camel fucker. You drive faster you shit!" The driver doesn't answer, he stops at a red light. Ramsay leans forward again. "Did I say stop? You keep going, rat." The driver shakes his head, and Theon admires his courage. 

A clicking sound has the driver go rigid. Something metallic is boring into his neck. Now Theon can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"On your responsibility," the driver says.

The metallic thing clicks again, and now the driver loses it. He speeds up, races through the dirty streets of King's Landing, narrowly avoiding running over an old woman, until halting with shrieking tires in front of the Andal. 

"Until next time, you stinking shit." Ramsay takes the thing away from the driver's neck. A pen. He sees Theon's incredulous look and cackles. "Good old Valyrian Steel pen. Writes like a quill, sounds like a glock 43."

He pats the driver on the shoulder and gets out, still laughing. The driver's hands are clutching the wheel, he's shaking, and staring straight ahead. Theon wonders what he sees, where he dreams himself to. His homeland? He reaches into his pocket, pulling out about three times the amount they'd be owing. The driver doesn't move, so Theon puts it into the glovebox.

"I'm sorry. My partner, he's... I'm sorry."

When he enters the pub, Ramsay's already surrounded by colleagues, his usual menu on the table in front of him: a pint of ale and a double rum. He's cheerily telling them of his recent official act when he spies Theon.

"Reek, old slumdog-hugger. What took you so long? Wiped your rat-friend's tears because uncle Ram has been so mean? Boo hoo? Wanker," he finishes joyfully.

Theon ignores him and the laughter that follows his words. He slumps down at the bar, and Gilly puts a glass of Dornish red in front of him before he can ask. "Tough day?" She carefully avoids looking in Ramsay's direction.

Gilly's been living in King's Landing since she's been eight years old. She was one of the many kids that were evacuated when the North was at war. Her foster parents showered her with goodies and sweets and affection, and maybe she believed herself in paradise. Until the day the message came, her father dead, mother dead, home reduced to rubble.

And her foster parents, who now saw themselves confronted with the prospect of a permanent guest... They'd probably meant to just celebrate their own philantropy, showing the poor thing a better life, then, after the war was over, sending her home with a suitcase full of toys and books. But for the long term? And they couldn't just send her back again, that wouldn't look good with the neighbours. So they settled on a compromise.

Orphanage, a visit and gifts every couple of months, then slowly downsizing to a card for her birthday, until she was sixteen and more or less an adult. After years on the street Ramsay had picked her up in a razzia. A very small razzia, with only one officer, and only one suspect. She didn't have an ID, but shade of the evening, and the kind officer looked the other way. But he still had to search her _thoroughly_ , of course. Three days later she had this job in the KLPD's favoured pub. 

Theon drinks. And drinks. He starts to warm, but he still hasn't reached the desired level yet. "Another." What's too much, where's the line? It's all about power over others, force, One has to act. "Act," Theon slurs, "act. Another!" He gets up, sways, starts to take of his clothes. All eyes are on him, it's deadly quiet. "We must act, can't just sit, look, listen in silence."

Ramsay looks him up and down. Poor sod, actually, Theon thinks. Poor Bolton. Came here after his girlfriend dumped him. Why did she dump him? Because he's an evil shit. Why is he an evil shit? Maybe because his father was a cold, cruel man? Or maybe because he's lost one of his balls when he tried to rape his neighbour's daughter? Why did he do this? Because she wanted him too. He says. 

"Poor sod," Theon mumbles.

"What was that?" Ramsay's gaze is suspicious.

"Nothing, nothing. Act! Another!" He's naked now, stumbling towards the door.

"Ram... he'll freeze to death," says Gilly.

"Shut up, doll. A Reek's a Reek's a Reek."

 

**_KING'S LANDING MORNING NEWS_ **

_Is this what we're paying taxes for? The police officer Theon G. was arrested in the early hours of the morning, heavily intoxicated and undressed, trying to rally passing pedestrians into a mob against his own unit._

_DS Ramsay Bolton, G.'s partner, has talked to our reporter: "I tried to hold him back a couple of times. He has a few personal issues, and now he seems to have snapped.'_

_Bolton had no other choice than to call the 'friends of the KLPD'._

_"We wish him a fast reconvalescence and hope to have him among us again soon."_

_Theon G. has been suspended with immediate effect._


	2. Chapter 2

Theon looks out of the bus window, letting his gaze wander over King's Landing from a distance. It looks good from out here, not the dirty, stinking moloch it really is. He turns his attention back to the woman with the rose, sitting two rows in front of him. The woman he has to surveil.

Yesterday afternoon Baelish had called Theon into his office, waving one of those yellow envelopes Theon loathes so much.

"I know it's not your favourite kind of job, but work is work. The name's Lannister, Professor Lannister." He'd pushed the envelope over the table to Theon. "And, dear Greyjoy... do your best. Think of your... unfortunate past." 

Like every normal detective agency Baelish and Co takes on different kinds of jobs.

First there's the search for missing persons. For example, if a family father from Flea Bottom goes out for cigarettes in the evening, and doesn't return for two days, and isn't found under the table at his favoured pub, and when the wife then turns to Baelish and Co, it's a white envelope, for "vanishing like a ghost". 

Then the personal bodyguard cases. If the family father from Flea Bottom runs across his highschool sweetheart when buying cigarettes, and maybe he accompanies her for a glass of wine, and two days later is caught in her bed by her husband, and the husband looks like the Mountain and threatens the family father with the removal of certain body parts, then he might turn to Baelish and Co because he's not feeling entirely safe anymore. Those envelopes are red, "like blood", Baelish hisses dramatically, his eyes narrowing as if he was the cuckolded husband. 

Then there's company surveilance. Baelish loves it, to be important enough for the big companies in King's Landing, to be thought trust-worthy, discreet enough. When the family father from Flea Bottom calls in sick for the fifth time in two months, and his workplace gets suspicious that maybe it's actually not the flu, not the hemorroidhs, maybe it's the highschool sweetheart eating his time, then the envelope is grey, like "the veil of lies". 

And then there's the yellow envelopes. Yellow like jealousy, but Baelish doesn't say that. Out-of-wedlock-relations, Baelish calls it. When the family father is absent conspicuously often, his wife might suspect him to have a mistress, and demands proof, to "show the scumbag." Or maybe it's the cuckolded husband of the highschool sweetheart, to "know who's fucking my wife so I can break his face". That's the yellow envelopes.

A yellow envelope always lets Theon's mood plummet to the ground, this time's no different. But of course he's taken the envelope, job is job, and Theon knows he won't find better work anywhere as it is. Two years have passed since his inglorious sacking, and six months since Baelish has hired him, "out of pure goodness."

Lannister it is, this time. Professor Cersei Lannister, former High Valyrian teacher, early fifties. Her husband, Mr. Baratheon, has the pressing suspicion she has a lover. Inside the envelope Theon has found a picture of the accused, and notes about her life and her habits. Married to her husband for over thirty years, no children. In the last two or three months she has behaved strangely, going out at odd times without providing an explanation, starting to carry red roses around with her... Sounds classic, Theon thinks. She has an affair, it only remains to be seen with whom.

The bus is full, full of tourists, happy to spend the day in the national park a little outside of the city. Good, Theon thinks. He won't stand out with his camera. When the bus stops, Lannister waits until most people have gotten off before stepping out, red rose in her hand. She looks at her watch, smiles, and Theon suddenly feels something like guilt.

Why can't they leave her alone, her and her lover? She's not young anymore, maybe it's her last chance. Maybe her husband's not good to her, and this is her path to happiness. It's suddenly more than professional curiosity, Theon wants to know what Lannister's lover looks like.

Cersei Lannister doesn't go further into the park like most of the tourists do, she turns to the cafe right at the entrance. Theon follows, sitting down a few tables from her, and orders a coffee. He tilts his face up to the sun, squinting over at Lannister every couple of minutes. She sips at a glass of red wine. Theon notices her getting increasingly nervous, checking her watch every so often. Apparently her date is late. Then she pulls out a small, longish blue package. A watch, is Theon's first thought, an expensive one, a gift for her lover. Maybe a friendly reminder for them to be more punctual. 

Lannister waves for the waiter, pays and gets up. Theon hastens to do the same, but the waiter tells him it's already taken care of. Oh?

Theon shrugs it off and hurries after Lannister. She's taking a small path, walking right into the forest. She's pretty fast, and Theon loses sight. When he pants around the next bend he stops dead.

There's Cersei Lannister, standing in the middle of the path, facing him. Her eyes have a strangely triumphant look in them, and suddenly Theon feels himself reminded of his father. His father let little Theon sometimes win at card games, but he always let him know, a sneering expression on his face.

_See, I'm letting you win, because you don't manage yourself._

The same look is on Cersei Lannister's face, and Theon feels like he's run into a wall. Unbeknownst to him the rules have changed. Theon isn't surveiling her, he's being surveiled, lured into the forest.

Lannister smiles, nods conspiratorially, and turns into the forest, away from the path. After a second Theon follows. He sees her stopping at a big tree, crouching down. He gets up his camera, then hesitates. What if she's doing a... business? I've come far, he thinks, snapping photos of middle-aged women taking a piss in the forest. But he cranes his neck, and... Oh. She's burying something beneath the leaves. Theon waits until she's further away, then goes to have a look, shoving the leaves away with his foot.

The blue package. The game isn't lost yet, Theon thinks. And then, suddenly, he has a weird feeling... This envelope should've been red. His cop senses haven't completely vanished yet, and now they're tingling. Maybe he's just paranoid though...

Lannister will meet with her lover, they will _coincidentally_ wander back in this direction, _oh! what is that, look and find out,_ something like that. Romantic, really. He'll sigh and act surprised, and they will sink into each others arms and kiss, and Theon will take his pictures of the lovebirds and call it a day. 

Theon snorts and shoves the leaves back over the package. Then he looks up. Shit. Where has she gone?? He searches, goes back to the path, back into the forest, to the package... She's nowhere to be found. He starts to get panicked - he can't afford to lose this job - when a beeping sound catches his attention. Then, a high-pitched voice, talking urgently, too far away to really make out. 

Theon barges through the trees, in the vague direction of the sounds. He has to crawl through a hedge, stumbling into a small clearing behind it. 

There, in a small ditch, nearly hidden from view, lies Cersei Lannister, on her back, blood dripping from her hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Theon feels tired. He sits in the grass, leaning against a young tree, hands in his lap. Those handcuffs are too tight. Not far from him three police officers are grouped around Lannister's body, throwing him suspicious glances every now and then. Everything had gone so fast. Theon lets the last hour pass by in his mind.

He'd hastened across to Lannister, but he already knew there was nothing to be done. He could see her brain spilling out of her head. He'd regarded the blood-stained stone lying next to her, the cell phone at her feet. Quickly he had searched her, with the gloves he still had with him at all times.

Nothing unusual. Keys, a pack of hankies, a pen, her purse. Inside of it her driver's licence, some cash and a bundle of business cards. The cards he'd tucked into his own wallet. He'd put her purse back and retreated a step. It couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, but then the officers had been already breaking through the bushes. 

"Stay! Hands up! Weapon down! Face to the wall!"

Theon had raised his hands, but there was no weapon, and there certainly wasn't a wall. So he'd raised his arms and shouted, "Don't shoot, colleagues, don't shoot!"

And now he's sitting here, waiting. The guys from homicide haven't shown up yet. Theon's head spins. The familiar pattern of a murder, too much happening too fast, and the gnawing guilt.

He's failed at his job. Has observed a sprightly, living woman to death. Even if he can prove his innocence, he still is guilty in some way. And... he'll be the biggest idiot in police history.

"Look there, the idiot..."

A jolly smile around his lips, DS Ramsay Bolton stomps across the clearing, followed by a young, fat guy and a very small guy. There are days like that. Close your eyes, don't think, just let the things play out. 

"What an unexpected pleasure," Ramsay grunts, standing bent over Lannister's body. "Good job, nudie. Why? Sex? Drugs?"

"I didn't do it."

Ramsay raises his eyebrows in utmost astonishment. "Heard that, Tarly? He didn't do it." The young man coughs, looks on the ground in chagrin. "Do you know your rights?" he says directed at Theon.

"That there has no rights," Ramsay snorts. "Don't start with your rights again, you studied faggot." 

It's dead quiet on the clearing. Tarly is bright red. He's fighting back the tears. How many, Theon wonders, how many partners has Ramsay gone through since him?

The small man has been examining the spilled brain through a huge magnifying glass, now he gets up. "Hi, Greyjoy."

"Hi, doc."

They know each other from better times. When Theon had joined the KLPD, Tyrion had already been a legend as far as forensic pathology goes. 

"See, I'm a pathologic pathologist," Tyrion used to say. "And it has its perks. Our patients are dead, no bitching, no complaining, nothing to do wrong. Have you ever heard of a post-mortem malpractice?" 

The doctor marches over to Theon and raises his magnifying glass. "May I?"

"Of course."

The glass and Tyrion's huge eye behind it wanders slowly over Theon's face, down his neck, over his coat, down to his hands. Tyrion straightens. "Forget it, Bolton. Take off the handcuffs."

Now Ramsay's mouth hangs open. "What?"

Tyrion sighs. "I'll try to put it in words you'll understand. When you hit someone with a blunt weapon like that, blood spurts in all possible directions. And Greyjoy here is as clean as can be. Under no circumstances he could have done it. Unless..."

Ramsay's eyes glitter hopefully.

"Unless Greyjoy is self-cleaning. A sanitary wonder."

There are days like this. When the horrible situation is brightened by a tiny drop of luck. Even better, Ramsay is deeply disappointed, he leaves Tarly to question the witness. He totters off, angry and hurt, like a spoiled child. While Theon gets freed of the handcuffs, he sends a grateful smile over to Tyrion, and receives a wink in return.

What Theon tells Tarly in the next half hour is the truth, most of it. The envelope, what he knows about Lannister, how he'd observed her, how she'd been gone all of a sudden. No, he didn't touch anything. Yes, he had just wanted to call the police but they had already been there so fast. Theon doesn't tell Tarly of Lannister's strange behaviour, or the blue package. Finally Tarly is done.

"Please continue to be available," he says, just like in the movies. 

Before Theon leaves he turns back to Tarly one more time. "The police... how did they get here so fast?"

"The phone," Tarly says, indicating it with the tip of his shoe. "She's called the police herself."

Meanwhile the sun has started to go down. Theon wants to go home, wash his failure off of him. It's a long bus ride home.

And there's still that blue package, buried under dry leaves, waiting for Theon to retrieve it.


	4. Chapter 4

The humongous beast stands about twenty or thirty feet beside the path. It reminds him of the big stone lions in that old castle he's visited as a child. Its blood-red eyes are staring into nothing.

Carefully, Theon creeps closer. He circles the animal, wary of a possible attack. It stands completely rigid. A gush of wind brushes through the thick white fur. Theon goes nearer. It's a dog. A dog with the proportions of a pony.

Huge, like a polar bear with the white fur. Theon takes one step after the other. No growling, no bared teeth, no sound at all. A suspicion forms in Theon's mind, yes, it must be...

"Taxidermied," Theon mumbles. Then again, a little louder. "That beast is taxidermied."

With a grin he steps closer, but he's crowed too soon. A shudder rips through the massive form, from the giant paws to the suddenly upright ears, it prepares to leap.

Fuck, is Theon's last thought before he is thrown to the ground. Fuck Tyrion! How cosy he could be now, in a nice cell down in King's Landing, anywhere really where he's not ripped to pieces. A heavy weight on his stomach has him groan out loud, a shock of thick fur nearly chokes him - The dog has jumped over him.

Theon's still alive, not eaten by a freak dog. He sits up, spies the dog beyond a big tree. It's hopping and turning like a maniac, it seems to dance, panting and huffing between the trees. It opens its mouth, it seems to grin, its tongue lolls out - then it collapses with a last heavy sigh.

Theon scrambles to his feet. He stalks over. The dog is still drawing shallow breaths. Theon lets his hand glide over the thick fur. He can feel a heartbeat. He tries to lift the huge animal, but it's no use. The dog is way too heavy. But Theon can't just let it lay there, maybe dying. It belongs to someone, it's wearing a collar.

Theon makes a decision. He'll call the animal ambulance from the cafe at the park entrance. And then, inevitably, he'll have to call Baelish. He feels anxious at the thought. Then, finally, home. Bed. Sleep. Tomorrow, Theon thinks, he'll get himself one of those cell phone things. 

The ambulance guys are on their way. Baelish though... the anxiety has developed to full-blown panic. He hasn't said much. "Tomorrow at nine in my office." Of course Baelish knows already, about Lannister's demise, and Theon's incapability. Must've been Ramsay, who told Baelish. The next day, Theon muses, will be one of these days too. 

He fumbles with the blue package in his pocket while making his way to the bus station. As long as he doesn't open it, anything could be inside. A precious watch. A clue to who the murderer is. Anything. It's just like Schroedinger's cat. As long as he doesn't open it, the cat just exists, neither dead nor alive. 

Now the decision will be made. If the cat is alive, it'll be a clue. 

The cat is dead. Inside the package isn't a clue, only another puzzle. An old pair of glasses, cracked, carefully wrapped in plastic foil. 

The headlights of the bus round the corner. Theon gets on, still pondering about the content of Lannister's package. He's the sole passenger, so when the driver adresses him he looks up. "Yours?"

It takes a while for Theon to understand. Only when he feels hot breath on his neck he turns around. Behind him, teeth bared in a grisly smile, eyes red like a monster's, sits the huge dog from before.

 

**_KING'S LANDING MORNING NEWS_ **

_Horrible blood-bath in National Park - police confronted with a mystery._

_Shortly before our editorial deadline disturbing news reached the King's Landing Morning News headquarter._

_The middle-aged retired teacher Professor Cersei L. was found dead in the National Park, just outside the city._

_The defenseless woman fell victim to a brutal murder in broad daylight._

_Can't our citizens feel safe anymore, even in our green recreational paradise?_


	5. Chapter 5

It has been a drowsy ride home. But a nice one. The lights of King's Landing had come nearer. At some point the dog had moved to sit beside Theon. It had looked quite docile, pink tongue peeking out between sharp front teeth. He was breathing steadily, and Theon had laid his arm around the big, warm animal to prevent it from falling off the seat. Lulled by the rhythm of the bus they sat in peaceful silence, one tired and exhausted, seeming completely spaced out the other. It's been a long time since Theon's had his arm around someone.

Before they had arrived at the last station, Theon had checked the name plate on the dog's collar. No adress, no phone number, just a word. The name of the dog, Theon supposes. Ghost.

Finally they were back in King's Landing, and the problems were back, too. They spent about half an hour coaxing the dog out of the bus, Theon and the driver. Then the way to the underground station, barely three hundred feet. An hour's walk, with Ghost, until they were finally sitting in the carriage. And there Ghost had had his next manic attack.

Now it's eight thirty, and Theon checks his tie in the hallway mirror. His new roommate is snoring in the bathtub, but Theon can't think about him now. He has to go to meet Baelish in his office, and his stomach is a tight knot of anxiety. 

At nine on the dot Theon knocks on Baelish's office door. The sympathetic gaze of Baelish's secretary boads ill. After a curt, "Come in", Theon enters. 

"At least," Baelish says, peering at his watch, "at least..."

He's sitting bent over his desk, like a plucked chicken, and opposite him, on the visitor site, sits DS Ramsay, legs spread, smiling smugly like the cat that got the chicken.

"What a feat, Greyjoy, masterly performance," Baelish mutters. "Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

"In my defence," Theon answers dutifully, "it was a yellow envelope, you know that."

"I know that? This could cost us our reputation, that is what I know. My grandfather would spin in his coffin if I'd manage to run his life's work into the ground!" He sighs. "The gossip, the gossip... if that hit's the newspapers we're done!"

While speaking Baelish has half-risen from his chair and hammers his fist on the table, angry all of a sudden. "Done, done, done, DONE!"

He takes a deep breath and slumps back again dramatically.

"Now, Greyjoy," he sighs with appropriate sternness. "Now listen carefully. The good sir, the colleague from the KLPD, PC, pardon, DS Bolton, has made us an offer. And we will take that offer. Write that down, TAKE. IT. The good DS means well, for the business, and for your job. The DS is content to leave the press out of it. Us out of it, isn't it so?"

Ramsay raises his eyebrows, nods graciously. So the scumbag has been promoted to sergeant. Bloody justice. And he won't rest until he's DC.

"No word about Baelish & Co, no word about your amateurism. No word that we ever touched the Lannister case. Got that?"

Theon knows why, Ramsay's motives are always crystal clear. But he wants to hear it from Baelish.

"But... why?"

Baelish wipes his head.

"Sometimes you have to decide between a... a bullhead and the surviving of my firm. The DS has one condition, and we'll meet it, Greyjoy! No investigations, no private snooping. You've never heard of this case."

Ramsay grins and releases a satisfied grunt. But Theon doesn't want to give up yet. "We drop a murder case? Because of that guy?" He gestures at Ramsay. "Our own case?"

"Your case, Greyjoy," grits Baelish through his teeth. "If it was for me I'd fire you this instant. I only keep you so you can't walk around interfering with the real police. The DS can work in peace, I'll manage my firm in peace, and for you it's another yellow envelope. There has never been a case Lannister at Baelish & Co!"

Silence. Ramsay purses his lips and regards Baelish with some amusement. Baelish watches Theon, reproachful and expectant. Theon looks at his feet, then lifts his head to look at Baelish and smiles. 

It feels so good when finally everything is lost, has gone wrong. And maybe he has to hit rock-bottom to make the pendulum swing to the other side for once. It would be about time.

Theon feels himself relax, a word growing in his mouth. 

Goodbye, health insurance. Goodbye, regular pay checks. Goodbye, holidays, goodbye, cable... The meaning of life.

Watched by the irritated gazes of Baelish and Ramsay Theon straightens.

"No," he says softly. "I quit."

It feels so good. Only an empty bank account, but a straight spine. And a murderer to find.

Out on the street Ramsay catches up with him. "Have you gone nuts??"

He has gotten over the first wave of bewilderment, now he's wheezing while trying to keep up with Theon.

"Calm down, Ramsay."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Nothing. Being unemployed."

"Don't talk crap, asshole."

"If you mean the murder... I've got amends to make."

That's what Ramsay has wanted to hear, he grabs Theon's collar, pulls him close. His eyes are narrowed and he hisses, "Now open those damn ears real wide. If you think you can shit me off here... there's always a nice free place on the cemetery, next to Lannister if you wish, then you can question her personally."

"May I go now, DS Bolton?" It's surprisingly easy to keep his calm.

"But of course..." Ramsay releases Theon, pats his cheek tenderly and winks. "Just take care not to cross uncle Ramsay's path, take good care..."


	6. Chapter 6

When Theon enters his flat a couple of hours later, he's greeted by a distinctive smell. It seems Ghost isn't only still alive - he's also showing relatively normal dog behaviour, as far as Theon knows.

He sets down the shopping bags filled with treats and dog bones and squeaky toys, then enters his bedroom. On his pillow, directly in the middle, sits the largest pile of dog poo Theon has ever seen.

Beside the bed is a white tent. Out of the tent peeks a white bushy tail. It's Ghost, wearing Theon's covers like a cape, again frozen into the same rigor he showed when Theon found him. 

Theon holds his breath. With outstretched arms he carries the offending pillow into the bathroom. There are still those bags on the floor, and although Theon sees them he can't stop the fall.

Murphy, Theon thinks while feeling himself fall in slow-motion, Murphy is going to happen. But Murphy doesn't happen. Newton happens and the pillow falls shit-down on the floor, Theon's face hitting the soft, shit-free side. 

Maybe, Theon thinks, maybe this is a sign that now his lucky times start. He lifts the pillow and - "Shit!"

Literally. And lots. And inmidst - Theon looks closer. A ruptured piece of rubber? A black mass spilling out... hash. Hashish oil. Judging the smell now even overpowering the shit-smell, quality hashish oil. 

Half an hour later the freshly brewed coffee has excorcised the last trace of the other odours, the floor is clean, the linen in the washing machine and Ghost back in the tub. One piece of rubber with hash is sitting on a saucer in front of Theon.

He's heard about it, of course. Large dogs being used to smuggle drugs in from Volantis or Gods know where. At least some riddles are solved. Ghost's odd behaviour. The rigor, the manic periods. Poor thing is probably on the trip of a lifetime.

One thing is clear: going out for walkies isn't happening anytime soon. There will be many pillowcases to wash. Theon takes a sip from his coffee. At least, it seems, Ghost isn't on his way to the happy hunting grounds just yet.

Lucky dog, that it's only hash. A popped condom with heroin and he'd be in doggy heaven by now. Still, Theon feels sorry for Ghost. The dog is currently on a strange and frightening journey, apart from his beloved owner. Who must be a giant dick if they did this to their dog.

Maybe Theon should take him to a vet, once he can be sure there's nothing illegal left in Ghost's bowels. How has the dog ended up in the park anyway, so near to the murder scene. Coincidence? 

Theon knocks back the rest of his coffee as if it's alcohol. Lannister, the murder, the glasses, the mystery... everything whirls around in Theon's head. Not enough pieces to solve the puzzle. And yet there's one piece there that doesn't fit.

Lannister has called the police herself, the high-pitched voice Theon has heard. So she knew she was in danger. If she had enough time to make a phone call, why didn't she run away? Why not take cover with the unassuming tourist, her involuntary guardian, Theon?

The ominous lover is the key, Theon hopes. When he finds him... Maybe Lannister's husband does know something more about them. Act, Theon, act. And in adequate dress, if possible.

He gets his old coat out of a cupboard. It's plenty wrinkled, but it'll have to do. Theon pockets the plastic-wrapped glasses and, after checking on Ghost in the tub, leaves. Theon Greyjoy's search has begun. 

The house is small, nondescript, but it's in the more upscale part of the city. When it has been built it was probably yellow, now it just looks dirty. Lannister's flat is on the third floor. Theon takes a deep breath and rings.

Immediately the door is ripped open and a loud roar washes over him.

"What the bloody hell do you still want from me???"

The volume level fits the angry, red-faced, bearded man, big and with a huge potbelly. He's a drinker, is Theon's first impression of the newly baked widower. 

Normally Theon would have expected grief, or shock, from someone who's wife had just had their head smashed in. Not a trace of that in Mr. Baratheon.

"WHAT! Are you coming or what!!!"

Baratheon has turned to enter the living room Theon can see from the hallway.

Theon fumbles through the dimly lit place. He looks around, old police habit, for a clue, to catch a hint of Lannister's personality. Dusty furniture, no decorations. Either the two of them didn't like to show their personalities - or didn't have any. Looking at Baratheon slumping down on the couch with a grunt, Theon cannot believe that. 

"So. Where is your charming colleague from yesterday? Too good of him to not arrest me, or pack me off into a body bag while he's at it."

Theon coughs. "So, you've already..."

"OF COURSE I HAVE!!! SIT DOWN!"

Theon reels back, sitting down. "I'm sorry, I was on holiday..."

"HOLIDAY!!! Congratulations. Can I get you something? A cup of coffee? A tea? A piece of cake? A urine sample?"

Baratheon's voice is dripping with sarcasm, but Theon chooses to ignore that. "A coffee would be lovely, thank you."

Baratheon stares, means to get up, falls back again, shaking his head. "There's no coffee. My wife didn't like coffee. Or tea. Or flowers. Or friends. Or travels. Or good food. Or me."

Theon blinks. "But... but your... your enquiry... about..." 

"I told your colleagues everything already! For the very last time: It wasn't my idea, it was Cersei's! Now she sees what she got out of it. Or not." Baratheon snorts. "Coward, that woman. Ice cold, but a coward. Said she wanted to meet a former pupil, didn't feel safe. There is no lover, that I know of. Too dry for that, Cersei. Bitch."

"I understand," Theon murmurms. A blatant lie. "Do you know the name of the student?"

Baratheon shakes his head.

"Did your wife wear glasses?"

A bark of laughter. "Eyes like an eagle. The mother and I, she used to say, we see everything."

Theon pulls out the glasses. "So that weren't hers."

Another head-shaking. 

"Why?" Theon asks. He's genuinely curious. "If your wife was such a... a..."

"Bitch," Baratheon supplies helpfully.

"Well - why did you agree to lie for her? To the agency?"

The answer comes after a long pause, hushed and meek.

"She said everything was going to be different, after. We would, could, take a trip together. Dorne, maybe the Sapphire Isles... maybe even Volantis, or Pentos. She never liked traveling. And I always wanted to... She could be very charming. Convincing." 

It's like a veil of sadness, old and routinous, has sunken over Baratheon. Theon gets up. "Well... condolences... or... I'll let myself out."

He doesn't get an answer. Baratheon is still, staring into nothing.

Outside it has grown dark, and Theon shivers. Home, he thinks. At least there's someone waiting for him now.


	7. Chapter 7

"Graddakh!! Chiftik!! Ezas eshna gech ahilee!! Ifak!!"

Theon dreams, of past days in the sun, warm hands on his, a wide smile...

"CHOYO!! CHOYO!!"

Like needles the words drill into Theon's sleeping brain, pain searing through it when his body is reluctantly dragged from sleep. He opens a sticky eye, glares at the display of his alarm clock. 6:02am

"Fuck! Shit! Hell! Fuckfuckfuck!"

His own screaming has woken Theon permanently, he sits up and holds his throbbing head.  
6:02 am. Hammer drill. Jack hammer. Freight elevator. Concrete mixing machine. Dothraki workers.

There aren't many things in the world that are worse than waking up to the cacophony of the building site next door. Theon is robbed of what he loves the most, what keeps him functioning. Sleep, and the dreams that come with it. Dreams of better times.

"Shitty bandits. Assholes. Bloody construction. Fuck King's Landing," Theon grits while dragging his feet into the kitchen. He hugs the coffee machine, trying not to just sit down and scream. Loud. He twists the knob of the water faucet. It burbles, it gargles promisingly... No water.

Ghost is still in the tub, so Theon leaves unshowered and unshaved.  
After his second coffee and one litre of delicious water he's starting to feel like a human being again. Which is kind of necessary, because today Theon is going to school.

The Aegon-Targaryen-School is near Theon's flat, so he doesn't have to go far. It's named after some historic conquerer from a million years ago. It smells the same as Theon's old school: Sweat, feet, mildew, piss and fear. Theon has hated school, back then.

Fear before an exam, the crushing weight of homework, the never ending disappointment he'd caused his father, the thin line between boyhood and real life... Theon shudders. He really doesn't like being here, but it's Lannister's school, where she's been a teacher for over two decades.

The bell rings, pupils start to run to their classrooms in panic, and Theon has to ground himself to stop himself from running as well. He reminds himself he's a grown man, and strides across the hallway, desperately trying to look confident. No luck.

Three teenagers are staring at him threateningly when he passes. They don't even try to lower their voices.

"Have they found the murderer yet?"

"Whaddya think, it's the coppers."

"Yeah, since when are they good for anything."

"Fuck, Olyvar, he looks like he's going to cry, awesome!"

Theon walks past Olyvar and his friends. He's definitely NOT going to cry for fuck's sake. He's. A. Grown. Man. And still he feels like a naughty little boy when he knocks at the headmaster's door.

"Enter," a loud voice calls out. Theon enters.

The headmaster, Mr. Pycelle, greets Theon with a sloppy, damp handshake, and Theon has to fight the urge to wipe his hand at his jeans. "Take a seat, take a seat," the old man wheezes and slumps down. Theon sits down, letting his gaze wander over the desk.

"I figure you want to talk about our poor deceased Professor Lannister, right? I already talked to your colleagues, but I guess you good people have to be thorough. What a sad business. Dear Mrs. Lannister has left us some time ago, but of course we're all still shaken to the core."

The headmaster goes on and on, talking about Lannister's love for her job, how good she was with the students, what great results she always got with them... It goes on and on, and Theon feels ignored. This is the worst kind of being ignored, really.

Theon thinks back to his mother. After his brothers had died she had ignored him like that. Rambling on and on all day long, without even looking at him once, just filling the silences she felt. Even when he tried talking to her, she just went on over his head.

"Well, Inspector... thank you for talking to me, I hope I could help you, answer any unanswered questions, thank you for your visit, but you know, work..."

With that Theon finds himself outside of the headmaster's door, knowing exactly as much as before.

Shaking his head he totters down the hallway, when a door is opened and he finds himself pulled into a crammed little chamber, stuffed to the brim with art supplies. Holding his sleeve is a tall, red-haired woman, smiling widely. Her long skirt is dotted with colourful stains.

Art teacher, Theon diagnoses and thanks his lucky stars. And the fact that he hasn't shaved this morning. It adds to his casual attire, he muses.

"Why hello there! You're not a policeman."

Theon is baffled, so baffled he shakes his head. "Private investigator. I'm here because.."

"Lannister, of course. You want a drink? Absynth? I like to be kissed by the muse... and I still have both my ears."

Theon grins. They will get along very well. Half an our later he's calling her Mel and they're best friends.

"Pfff... don't listen to what old Pycelle told you. Lannister was a horrible teacher, the students hated her. She ruled her pupils with auctoritas, the absolute dictatorship. It always felt like treating shell-shock, PTSD, after her classes." Mel sips on her green drink.

Theon asks, "Did she ever use physical... methods?"

Mel shakes her head. "Oh no, she never did that. She just... I don't know how to explain." Outside a ringing sound interrupts her. "Oh, saved by the bell. Now out with you, and take care nobody sees you. What will people think if such a young guy comes out of my room?"

Theon grins. "A beautiful young man, they'll say, the professor's new naked model."

She laughs, smacks him over the head. "Well, beautiful man, off you go."

Theon gets up. "One more thing. Did Lannister have any... enemies?"

Mel shrugs. "Not that I know off, except maybe..." She starts to rummage through some boxes, coming up with a yearbook. "That's Lannister's class where she was head. Look out for the tragic event. Class 7B." She shakes her head. "I'm becoming a spy in my old age. You got a cell phone?" Theon shakes his head. She sighs. "Then give me your home phone number. I'll call you if I can think of anything else."

Theon thanks her profusely and she rushes to her classroom. Theon turns to leave. In the atrium there's a huge group of pupils hanging about, and Theon recognizes Olyvar and his friends.

They sneer at him and make whooping noises, and suddenly Theon has had it. He turns and makes a beeline for them, coming to stand directly in front of Olyvar. The little shit pales, but stands his ground.

"Something the matter, gramps?"

Theon clutches his chest dramatically. "But Oly... what's gotten into you?"

The kid's mouth falls open, his friends are silent. "What?"

Theon goes on. "Don't you remember? Last month, beneath the great willow, in the moonshine? The candles, the blanket, the prosecco... Did it mean nothing to you?"

The kid's face has gone from white to furiously red now, he's gasping for air, his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water. Theon decides to end this.

"I will always love you, Olyvar... always!!!"

With that he marches away, poor Olyvar's protests and the laughter of his friends ringing joyfully in Theon's ears. Childish? Yes. Good? Oh fuck, yes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**YEARBOOK AEGON-TARGARYEN-SCHOOL**

It's written in bold, enhanced letters, and Theon lets his fingers glide over them, like a blind man reading Braille. He has barely an hour to read it, it's lunchtime and the chisels and drills have stopped. Theon imagines the workers sitting over there, eating their horse sandwiches, drinking godsknowwhat.

At one pm they're going to come back with renewed energy. The clock is ticking away and Theon opens the book. Directly on the third side is a huge picture of the former headmaster, a very old man with milky blue eyes.

"Aemon Targaryen," Theon reads. Probably a descendant from Aegon.

The door creaks and Ghost shuffles in, with raised tail and a cute doggy smile. He stumbles a bit, but he doesn't fall down this time. He comes over to Theon and leans his massive body against him. "Good boy," coos Theon, petting him. Today Ghost has presented him with two more condoms.

 **STAFF** \- every single person is pictured here, the secretary, the teachers, the parents' representation, even the janitor and the lunch lady. Theon flies over the pages until he comes to the class Mel had mentioned. 7B.

Head of class: Prof. Cersei Lannister, and a picture. She looks different. Younger, of course, golden hair much longer and roped into a complicated-looking braid over her shoulder. Her eyes seem to mock Theon from the page, her mouth has hard edges. A beautiful woman, but...

Ghost has fallen asleep with his head in Theon's lap, sitting on his hind legs. Now his muzzle starts twitching, his tongue rolls out, his ears flutter and he makes tiny strangled yaps. With a sigh he glides to the floor. Theon catches his head before it can thud against the hard surface, and lets him down gently.

Beneath Lannister's picture is a list of all the subjects the class had had. It's disturbingly much and Theon thinks back to his school days. Six to eight hours a day, five days a week, knowlede, knowledge, knowledge, hammered into his mind. It sounds too much, in retrospect.

Lannister has given History and Old Valyrian. Theon looks at the timetable, does the math. Two to three hours Lannister a day for the 7B. On the opposite site are pics of the pupils. Theon immediately notices two things. First, the small number. Only 11 students.

Second, the photo with the thick black lines framing it. It's solemn, the face in the picture. A good-looking boy, somber blue eyes, a tightly pressed-together mouth, short black hair... a thought tickles the edges of Theon's mind, a vague similarity... The thought is gone, he couldn't catch it.

" _Deeply shocked and with the greatest sadness we say farewell to our pupil, colleague and friend, Gendry Waters. He was ripped out of our circle by a horrendous tragedy. Fate may has taken him away from us, but he shall live in our hearts. We shall never forget Gendry Waters."_

Theon closes the book, and his eyes. A dead pupil. A tragedy. But that was nearly fifteen years ago, what can this mean for the Lannister case? Nothing, Theon decides, it's not important. No matter what Mel had said. It's too long ago. Theon sighs.

Why is he even doing this? He can't beat Ramsay, not in this game, where Ramsay has a computer, a weapon, minions and a car. And a cell phone. And he's the police, at one tiny touch of a button he has all the informations he needs, right in front of him, while Theon has to scrape them up painstakingly.

Theon's only trump card is that pair of glasses, his only chance.  
The phone rings and he walks over to pick up.

"Greyjoy."  
A short static, a nervous cough.

"Yes. Ah, hello, Mr... I don't know if you remember me... Tarly here."

Theon raises an eyebrow. Tarly? Ramsay's partner aka doormat? The studied faggot? "Of course I remember. How can I help you?"

"Listen... I don't even know why I'm doing this. If HE hears about that..."

Theon can hear the capital letters loud and clear. There's no doubt who 'HE' is. "I just wanted to warn you. HE's... well, you know him. But this time..."

Theon says, "Yes? This time..?"

Tarly sighs. "He's heard about your visit to the school. I've never seen him so angry, he wanted to go to you. Two colleagues held him back."

Theon thinks hard. "Where's he at now?"

The answer is mumbled, and suddenly Theon thinks there's more to it. Tarly sounds tired, and inexplicably sad. "The Andal."

Theon's not surprised about THAT. "You think we should meet up?"

Tarly squeals. "Oh, I'm not sure..."

"You know, I'm perfectly sure our brave policemen are allowed to go for a drink after their shift. Maybe the 'Onion Knight', over at Flea Bottom? Around... seven?" Tarly hums non-comitically and Theon continues. "Maybe I'll be there too, coincidentally of course. My favourite location these days. The roasted liver is anazing... Well, thank you for your call. If you need anything else, you know where to find me. Bye!"

Theon hangs up and stares at the phone. He'll see.

Then he jumps as the phone starts ringing again.

"Grejoy."

"This is special secret agent Mel from Aegon base. Hello!!"

Theon grins. "Professor, what an unexpected honour!"

"Have to make it short. Did you get a look into the book?"

Theon sighs. "Yes, I did, but-"

"Tsk, no but. I've talked to a colleague who's been already here around that time, from the seven-pointed-star-fraction, they always live longer but no fun... Anyways, listen. Gendry Waters."

Theon's intrigued. "Yes?"

"The tragedy was nothing else but a suicide. Has thrown himself down a cliff. If you have the book at hand you can paint another black frame. Satin Flowers, hanged himself some time after. Two suicides. Don't know why, neither has left a note. Anyways, the Night's Watch seems to have been fairly decimated."

Theon stills. "What was that?"

Mel pauses. "What was what? Oh, the Night's Watch. It was a nickname for Lannister's class, says my septa colleague. No idea what that means."

Theon's knees feel weak, he grapples the receiver. "Mel, you're a genius, thank you, thank you! The light in my dark brain!"

He's found it, the coincidence. Maybe it wasn't. A historic event he's learned about in school. Back a thousand years, when the Wall wasn't just a picturesque ruin, when it had been manned by the men of the Night's Watch... a tragic story, a mutiny. The Lord Commander had been killed by his own men. The date... the date is the same as Lannister's death. That can't be a coincidence.  
Loud drilling startles Theon out of his reverie. One pm. 


End file.
